


Medical

by MarvelDC31



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Medical, Natasha Feels, Natasha-centric, Panic Attacks, Past Violence, Pre-Relationship, Red Room, Swearing, in russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7121596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelDC31/pseuds/MarvelDC31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: Can you do a clintasha fic where she's injured and chill about it until Clint tells her she has to go to hospital/medical and then she starts freaking out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medical

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and let me know of any mistakes, thanks! Also, let me know if hovering your cursor over the Russian doesn't translate. Plus, if you want to send me prompts, my Tumblr is in my bio.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Get in, grab the intel, get out. Nothing they hadn’t done before, even if they'd done it separately. Nothing bad was supposed to happen, and that’s probably why everything _did_ go sideways. Their luck never was very good.

Now, Natasha got in easily, sure. Got the intel swiftly and efficiently. It was getting out that was the issue. _Someone_ tripped the alarm—which lead to Clint being glared at for the whole ride back to base—and that lead to over twenty guards chasing after the two of them.

“You слабоумный!” Natasha shouts at Clint as the two of them dash behind a wall.

Clint mumbles swears of his own, ducking as a stray bullet sails above him. They may not have been partners for long, but she’d expected better than _this_ on a first mission. She should’ve expected _less_ , to be honest, if the last month was anything to go by.

Natasha glares at the still-fumbling-for-his-bow Clint, and darts back into the hallway. They’re lucky only ten seem to have guns. Otherwise, things could’ve turned out _much_ worse. 

In seconds, Natasha takes down four guys, using the close quarters to her advantage. No one could let off a shot without the risk of hitting an ally. Natasha smirks, their care for on another safety will be their downfall.

A bullet flies towards her and she barely dodges the shot. Feeling the object slice through her abdomen, Natasha moves onwards. The pain barely registers, training automatically kicking in. Ignoring pain is second nature, at this point.

Finally, Clint manages to open up his bow and join the fight, taking down two opponents with a single arrow. The two split up, movements fluid and fighting styles compatible. They haven’t fought together like this since the day he brought her in to SHIELD and yet, its almost as if they’ve been fighting together every single day of their lives.

Clint swerves to the left, turning into a separate hallway, as Natasha stays in the hallway with the most enemies. Of course he’d leave the harder shit for her…the _мудак._ Natasha sighs and gets to work. Disabling the four people left with guns in thirty-seconds, she works to knocking them out.

It only takes two minutes for her to either kill or knock out the fourteen guys she had on her. Its another five-seconds before the sounds of fighting ceases from Clint’s hallway. Moments later, he steps into her line of vision, grinning.

“That went well!” he smirks.

Natasha wants to punch the damn smile off his face, but ignoring the pain in her stomach is becoming increasingly harder. She’s lucky her suit hides the blood, otherwise Clint—the _вредитель—_ would do something stupid…like acting as if he _cares._

She rolls her eyes, “Yes, _perfect.”_

Clint grins lopsidedly, “Lets get back to base.”

Natasha sighs and nods, following him back to their SHIELD approved SUV. Not alerting Clint to her injury is difficult, but somehow she manages to sit in the passenger seat without wincing. She’d be proud if only not doing so wouldn’t be a direct insult to her abilities. 

Clint starts the vehicle, and before long, they’re on their way back to where the helicarrier is stationed. Like previously mentioned, the entire ride is filled with glares to Clint’s head. Glares he pointedly ignores.

In less then an hour, the two agents are heading to their respective rooms for a nice, long shower. Or, in Natasha’s case, a patching up and _then_ a nice, long shower. She almost makes it to her door, but Clint turns to wave goodbye and completely freezes.

Natasha doesn’t let her confusion show, instead following his gaze to…her stomach. Right, turns out her suit _doesn’t_ hide blood as well as she thought it did. Internally, she sighs. Externally, her glare intensifies.

“Natasha,” Clint speaks slowly, “what happened?”

She scoffs, “Just a bullet, Barton.”

Natasha pushes her door open, walking coolly into her quarters. Clint follows.

“Hey, Natasha,” Clint glances at her gut nervously, “that looks like more than _just_ a bullet.”

She’s not going to lie, it certainly looks worse than she’d first thought. Of course, she’s not going to _admit_ that. Not when she can take care of it herself… _probably._

“Listen here, Barton,” she growls, “it is a simple bullet wound. It is _nothing._ ”

Clint shakes his head, straightening his back, “That needs to be treated.”

Natasha nods with a roll of her eyes, “And it will be.”

His eyes narrow, “ _Properly.”_

She glares, “ _And it will be.”_

“Dammit, Natasha!” he exclaims, “You have to get it checked out by medical!”

Suddenly, Natasha freezes. Clint’s eyes widen, thoughts of what he might’ve said wrong flowing through his mind.

She attempts to control her breathing, “What did you just say?”

Clint raises an eyebrow cautiously, “I said you need to get checked out by an _actual_ doctor.”

Natasha takes a hurried step backwards, shaking her head, “No. No, _doctors!”_

“Hey, slow down, wha—” Clint takes a small step forwards.

He’s cut off by Natasha shouting, “No doctors, Barton!”

She trips over a stray article of clothing, falling to the ground with a light thumping sound. Scrambling backwards, she huddles into a corner. Clint may be extremely confused, but the glint in her eyes is easily recognized… _panic._

That’s when it hits him, she’s having a damn _panic attack._ He doesn’t know why, but he knows its happening.

Natasha tries her best to calm her breathing, to control the nervous twitches her hands are giving off. Does all she can, but in the end, she still feels like she can’t breathe. In the end, she’s back in the Red Room, surrounded by men in white. Surrounded by so called _doctors_ who claim to want to help her, and yet, doing the exact opposite.

_You need to get checked out by an actual doctor,_ the words flow through her mind. Her panic increases, _she won’t go back._ Natasha doesn’t notice that she’s mumbling her words out loud.

Clint pauses, mumbling, “Won’t go back? What does that even mea—”

The realization hits him full force, and suddenly, he feels like a complete and utter _retard._ How could he not have seen this coming? Her only experience with doctors were ones that _tortured_ her. If he wasn’t so terrified he’d be banging his head against the wall.

Natasha finally manages to slow her breathing, thinking of things that calm her mind. Her experience with panic attacks is alarming, but the knowledge of what to do does help. She’s not completely out of the danger zone, but at least she’s stopped hyperventilating, right?

Clint kneels beside her, “Natasha? Can I touch you?”

Natasha breathes in deeply before nodding, and Clint immediately reaches over, gripping her shoulder, “Hey? Hey, can you look at me?”

She closes her eyes before opening them and glancing up at him. The care she sees in his eyes is alarming, its something she’s never dealt with before. Clint speaks before she can dissolve into panic even more.

“Focus on my voice, okay? Watch my breathing,” Clint mumbles.

Natasha strains her ears, listening only to his voice as he speaks, watching his chest rise and fall steadily. She tries her best to match her breathing to his.

“You don’t have to go to medical, okay?” Clint murmurs, staring concernedly, moving his hands to hold onto Natasha’s hands, “You don’t have to. I can look at your injury if you want. I know its scary, but if you do decide to go to medical, I can assure you they wont hurt you.”

Natasha’s breathing slowly starts to calm.

“I know that the doctors you’ve met in the past weren’t…the _best_ ,” he continues, “but I am asking you to trust me when I say this.”

He stares into Natasha’s eyes, and it takes a few moments before he sees a sliver of trust forming in her green orbs. When he does though, he keeps speaking.

“SHIELD, Fury, Coulson, and I…we are _not_ going to allow anything to happen to you. Every doctor you meet? They are only going to help you. Not in the ‘make you more useful to us and therefore give you a higher chance of survival’ kind of help. More like the ‘we are going to make sure you are physically, emotionally, and mentally okay and happy’ kind of way.”

Finally, Natasha breathes a sigh of relief, her panic receding. Having someone help her through an attack is definitely easier than working through it herself.

After a few minutes, she mutters, “Thanks…Clint.”

Clint smiles, “No problem. Like I said, I want to help you in a _positive_ way.”

She nods and sighs, standing up once again, “Right, yeah.”

“Anyway,” Clint claps his hands together, smiling softly, “ _someone_ still has to take a look at that wound.”

Natasha glances at it before taking a deep breath, “Lets go to medical.”

Clint grins proudly.


End file.
